Fear, till it change to desire, and desire to delight.

I sleep not: sleep would die of a dream so strange;

A dream so sweet would die as a rainbow dies,

As a sunbow laughs and is lost on the waves that range

And reck not of light that flickers or spray that flies.

But the sun withdraws not, the woodland shrinks not or sighs,

No sweet thing sickens with sense or with fear of change;

Light wounds not, darkness blinds not, my steadfast eyes.

Only the soul in my sense that receives the soul

Whence now my spirit is kindled with breathless bliss

Knows well if the light that wounds it with love makes whole,

If hopes that carol be louder than fears that hiss,

If truth be spoken of flowers and of waves that kiss,

Of clouds and stars that contend for a sunbright goal.

And yet may I dream that I dream not indeed of this?

An earth-born dreamer, constrained by the bonds of birth,

Held fast by the flesh, compelled by his veins that beat

And kindle to rapture or wrath, to desire or to mirth,

[Pg 139]

May hear not surely the fall of immortal feet,

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